


Do Not Accept if Seal is Broken

by MinMu



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Consent, Happy Ending, James Is a Cat Burglar, LITERALLY, M/M, No Sex Scenes, Pre-Slash, Q gets a hug, Q needs a hug, Selkies, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Some angst, Не копировать на другой сайт
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinMu/pseuds/MinMu
Summary: Although James Bond doesn't know it, his friend and quartermaster is a selkie.  When Q's pelt is stolen, the loss could be fatal so he turns to the only person he trusts to get it back.  As Q weakens, Bond goes on the case to retrieve the pelt and save Q's life.  These events bring the two friends closer together, closer than they would have thought possible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/gifts).



> This story was written for Only_1_Truth's beautiful artwork. (It is slightly a spoiler so I am placing it in the correct part of the story in the next chapter.) If she wasn't one of the kindest people I know, I might say it is unfair for one person to be brilliant at more than one talent. Fortunately, she shares her works liberally with all of us and this story is a small thank you for her gifts.

All agents had their own rituals to adjust from being on a mission to being NOT on a mission. It was like adjusting from being deep under the sea to being back on dry land and required a transition to avoid getting the equivalent of “the bends”. The classic ones were variations on the theme of “wine, women, and song” but Bond had been around long enough to evolve his own method.

As soon as he was back in London, he went to his flat and drank Scotch until he passed out. This wasn't celebratory drinking and he never drank with anyone else. Instead, this was a form of anaesthesia. Bond needed to drink until he couldn't feel anymore. Some joked that Bond didn't have any emotions and he certainly didn't display them during a mission. He would appear to have whatever reactions were most effective in achieving his mission. But they were never his own emotions; he kept his own feelings to himself. For as convenient as it would be to turn off his emotions for the mission and turn them back on when he returned, humans didn't work that way. Contrary to popular opinion, Bond was human.

Hence the drinking, the over-drinking. Scotch in sufficient quantities would dull his emotions and his memories. It would create a distance from himself and what he had experienced during the mission. One could argue he should wait until after he completed his after-action reports before dampening his memories, but one would be wrong. He would still be able to recall all the important facts and events necessary for the report, but he would be able to go through those memories without the feelings and the details that would have made it a torment. He would be able to report the events without needing to relive them all over again.

So after the first step of drinking himself into a temporary coma, he would proceed to the next step of going to MI-6. Because he wouldn't worry about waiting until "an appropriate hour" to begin drinking, he would typically be able to drink, pass out, sleep it off, and awake at an early hour of the morning. An hour so early that no one would interrupt him on his way to the second step of his process. If the scotch was the “wine” portion of the ritual, then (a highly modified version of) “women” would come next. When Bond was younger, he had performed his drinking in public and cut it short when he found an appropriate partner to take to a hotel to shag themselves insensible. But now Bond didn’t find that sex was what he needed. Another rhythmic exercise gave him the balance he needed.

He swam.

He would go to the MI6 pool and swim laps. After the scotch had performed its job, he needed to flush it from his system. It would have permeated him so completely that he would need to sweat the last bits out. Other exercises could have gotten him sweaty but would have made him feel more fouled rather than cleansed. Even sex….especially sex. Swimming hard would engage his entire body in the action, flushing his system. Then the surrounding water would wash him clean, literally and figuratively. Even if he was injured, he could swim without exacerbating the injury and could push himself as far as his body was capable. Swimming was almost a meditation to him: pushing his body to its limits, while requiring his mind to focus on very basic goals ("turn in time that you don't hit your head on the wall") while shedding all the unwanted thoughts that bounced around in his head.

The early hour of the morning would give him the solitude he needed. He wouldn’t have to fake small talk in the locker room or poolside, nor answer any questions. He would be alone to perform this ritual for as long as he needed to regain his self.

Once he had cleansed his mind and body, he was ready for the last portion of the ritual:singing the song of his adventures—aka, reporting. If he had had his way, he would skip this step. He hated needing to bring back the mission after he had worked hard to remove it. But he understood that it wasn’t just bureaucratic nonsense and that he needed to communicate information from the mission, that is was necessary in order to fully achieve its ends. He wished that telling this story was as fulfilling as singing an epic ballad of his accomplishments, but it had more of the feel of elevator music: consistent, necessary, but without joy. The After-Action Reports were a necessary evil. Since they were unavoidable, he had learned what was the minimum necessary and always relayed exactly that much information and no more.

He would avoid the Medical and Psych portions of reporting. He already knew how his mind and body were doing and no one else needed that information. He would go to Medical only if he had a wound that didn’t stop bleeding or an injury he wouldn’t be able to repair himself with sufficient time. That would prevent him from swimming and tore that ritual from his control and replaced it with medical intervention that would be another invasion rather than the natural healing he craved.

The final step in his process was returning his gear to Q-branch, usually to Q himself. This should have felt like more duty, but instead, it was a reward for doing the reporting. Bond loved seeing Q. Even though their interaction was mostly business, it was always gilded with pleasure. Q was neither intimidated nor impressed by Bond. Q saw him at his best and worst on missions. Bond put his life in Q’s hands to guide him to safety. Q would banter with him over the earbuds and in the office. In many ways, in his solitary life where he trusted no one, Q was his best friend, even though they never saw each other outside of work. Talking to Q was the last step Bond needed to become normal again.

Actually, there were times when Bond saw Q at the pool. Even though Bond would be there very early in the morning, he never saw Q swimming, only leaving. Bond figured that those must be nights where Q worked at MI-6 all night and needed a pick-me-up in the early hours to be able to appear fresh and wide-awake for the beginning of the normal workday. They never spoke, merely exchanged a nodding acknowledgement.

Q must have loved swimming as much as Bond did. When he was leaving the pool locker room, he always smiled and had a bounce in his step. Even when he was in his Q-branch, engaged in a hacking battle with a foe, even then, he didn’t look as alive as he did leaving the pool. He even seemed to glow, but that must be Bond’s imagination. Seeing Q at the pool wasn't necessary for Bond's transition, but it was always a nice bonus.

That was how Bond normally adjusted after a mission, but this time things wouldn’t be going to plan. He had accomplished the drinking-himself-unconscious part last night, but this morning his way to the pool locker room was blocked. There was yellow crime scene tape barring the way as though flimsy plastic could mean anything to a double-agent who wanted through. There was also a building security guard officiously holding up his hand in a 'halt' symbol. He proclaimed “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go in. This is an active crime scene.”

The term “building security guard” when applied to the MI-6 building was practically an oxymoron. Just as all office buildings required copiers and staplers, they also required building security guards. There was a rule somewhere. However, these ‘guards’ were not employed by MI-6 but by the building maintenance firm that had the contract. They received more screening than your average rent-a-cop but their daily job was pretty much the same as any security guard in an ordinary office building. So the idea of a ‘building security guard’ telling a double-o agent that he didn’t have clearance to view a crime scene was reminiscent of a toddler with a Fisher-Price badge trying to boss around an actual police officer.

Fortunately, Bond was in an unusually affable mood and decided to find the situation amusing rather than infuriating. He offered the guard respect generously "I usually swim in the mornings" without stating how many mornings "Can you tell me how long the pool will be unavailable? I know that this can vary depending on the nature of the crime."

The guard puffed up slightly at the agent’s deference and took the bait “Well, this was a property crime so we can reopen it as soon as the forensics is completed. But the crime was extensive so it may take some time.”

Bond smiled warmly and joked, “Are you trying to tell me that someone stole ALL the water in the pool?”

In on the joke, the guard replied “No, of course not. But someone emptied all of the lockers. It must have taken some time to clear them so completely.”

Bond felt a twinge of regret upon hearing that his locker had been robbed. He wasn’t one to focus on material possessions. He had only had a good laugh when he was declared dead and everything he owned was sold by MI-6--well, almost everything.

To be good at his job, he needed to be a chameleon without any identifying marks or unusual ornaments. MI-6 had even required his more interesting scars to be lasered off. So he couldn't wear personal jewellery on a mission. By chance, he had left his signet ring in his pool locker before he was declared dead and no one had gotten around to checking that locker before he resurrected.

The ring had been an heirloom from his mother. When he turned 10, she gave it to him "This belonged to my father and he received it from his father, going back far into our family's history. I want you to remember that you are not only a Bond but also a Delacroix. This ring will help you to remember that.”

His last physical link to his past, to his personal identity, was gone now. Maybe he should have felt liberated, but instead, he grieved momentarily. But only momentarily. He had lost so much in his life and of his life that one more piece didn't hurt more than a twinge.

The guard was staring at him and he realized that he had been quiet too long. “So do you think it will be open this afternoon?” Bond asked hastily.

“Probably not. Give it a day or so,” was the regretful response.

Bond maintained a charming smile. “Is all that forensics necessary? I mean, the videos alone should be sufficient.”

The guard bristled. “None of the cameras in this part of the building were operational.”

Bond’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. “None of them?”

His friendliness over, the guard replied “None. I shouldn’t be talking to a civilian. You should move along now.”

Denied entrance to the pool, Bond went back to the body of MI-6 to file his reports. He rushed through the after-action report. The edgy emotions hadn't been exorcized by swimming so he had to restrain them from pouring out onto the page. If he said too much or in the wrong tone, the visit to Psych might become mandatory enough to ground him from his next mission. He practically threw the papers at Moneypenny, knowing he couldn't bear to deal with anyone else and that she would get them where they belonged.

It took great effort to restrain himself from running to Q-branch. He needed Q's solid presence even more than usual. The uneasiness he felt was greater than the inconvenience of a disrupted routine should have caused. He just felt wrong and needed help to come back into balance.

Yet again his plans were thwarted. Q was absent from the department and the minion he accosted accusingly had told him that Q had called in sick for the day. “Q has never been absent. I didn’t think he was human,” the tech has replied with a touch of amazement. Bond had reluctantly handed in his equipment, unable to come up with a reasonable rationale as to why he needed to hand it to Q personally.

He left the office in a slight fog. He felt even more as though the universe had shifted off its axis. He hoped nothing was really wrong with Q, but it must be something serious or else he would have been at his post. Bond didn't know if Q was really always there, but Q was always there when Bond looked for him. Q would know when to expect Bond to return so he could make it a point to always be there. Then again, that was a bit self-centred of Bond. Maybe Q really was always at the office. Perhaps he didn't even have a home outside of MI-6? He left MI-6 with those thoughts swirling around in his head.

Little did he know that not only did Q have a flat, but that Bond would be summoned to it very soon.

Despite having his normal ritual disrupted, Bond was a very adaptable person and slid back into his non-mission life. He drank scotch for the taste and not like a drowning man inhaling his first breath of oxygen. He tried to beat his own records on the gun range. He wanted to go back to Q-branch to check on Q but really had no excuse to do so. He considered calling Eve for an update but knew that it would only generate ridicule and primary-school teasing about having a crush.

Two days later his mobile rang. The caller-ID showed as UNKNOWN. He would have ignored the call and assumed a telemarketer or a wrong number, but this was his work phone and only received calls from a list of accepted numbers. He answered curiously “Yes?” unwilling to give anything away without knowing who was on the other end.

A raspy voice spoke on the line “Wow. Getting you to agree was easier than I thought.” A brief laugh quickly turned into a choking cough. The voice was only barely recognizable as Q. “Bond, I need your help. I’m sending an address to your phone as we speak. This isn’t official. You don’t need to come….but I don’t have anywhere else to turn. You are the only one who can help me. “

"I will do anything for you." This could have been a seductive purr or a mocking joke, but Bond's tone and sincerity were pure, a knight acknowledging his fealty. "Just give me a heads up what I am walking into. Should I bring any special gear or just my standard firearm?"  
There may have been a slight ease in Q’s voice, but he still spoke as though through pain “This is just my flat. There are no hostiles on site and I will even leave the door unlocked for you. Just get here….please…then I’ll explain.”

Bond drove to the address in record time. He could have sworn that the lights turned green in front of him, clearing a path. He knew that Q had the technology to do so, but was it necessary? Could a few minutes make a difference worth abusing his abilities? Perhaps. Q did sound in rough shape. Maybe Bond should have asked him about bringing medical supplies and not just weapons. But then again, if Q was injured there should have been someone else to call for that kind of help. Bond was just a weapon to be used. He was no one’s idea of a comforting or healing presence.

When Bond pulled up to the building, there was a parking space waiting for him, right out front. He wondered idly if Q had arranged that as well and decided that Q could do anything he set his mind on. Then why did he need Bond? Probably—as usual—a trigger needed to be pulled and Q wanted to stay in bed in his pyjamas while it happened.

The front door was unlocked, as was the flat’s. Bond had thought Q was joking when he said he would leave it unlocked for him. This was either a sign of precise security or a lack of care. Either could be attributed to Q when it came to his personal safety. Bond just wasn’t sure.

He carefully entered without a sound and closed the door behind him. Q had said that there were no hostiles on site, but maybe that was a coded message? If Bond couldn’t take *anything* at face value, he would spend all of his energy spinning his thoughts in all possible directions. He needed to just move forward. “Q?” he called, “I’m here. Where are you?”

“Back here, in the bedroom”, yelled a strained voice. Q obviously was still out of sorts.

With great restraint, Bond resisted teasing Q about luring him into his bedroom. If the situation turned out to be trivial—Q treed by a spider?—then he could ridicule Q to his heart’s content. But he felt that this was a grave matter and no energy should be wasted, by either party.

Bond did find Q in his bed, in his pyjamas, with a cup of tea at his elbow. But instead of looking like a king on his throne, he looked like a patient in the hospital, too weak to get up and around. Q’s skin never looked like it had seen sunshine, but now it had a greyish hue and hung loosely to his skeleton. Something was very wrong with Q.

Q took a deep breath and set a look of resolve to his face. “I know we deal in secrets on a daily basis, but I have one of my own that I have never shared with anyone. I had hoped to keep my private life to myself, but now I need to tell you so that you can help me. I don’t have anyone else I would trust and…” his voice dropped as though he didn’t really want to finish the sentence “…I don’t have much time.”

Without conscious thought, Bond’s feet took him to Q’s side with quick strides. “What is going on? What do you need? What can I do?’ There was nothing he could deny Q. Bond didn’t have much of a self outside of work, but whatever he was, he offered to Q without hesitation.

Q’s face broke into a smile at the eager offer. “I need to give you a little background. Do you know what a ‘selkie’ is?”

Thinking back to the stories told by his governess, Bond replied “It is a mythical creature that has both a humanoid form and a seal-form. Its natural form is the aquatic one, but it can take off its sealskin to transform into a human form and can completely pass as human until it transforms back. I have heard stories where they are the villains and others where they are the victims, so I don’t know which category to place them in. “ Bond’s voice petered out, unsure of whether to continue.

Although the smile had faded, Q did not look displeased. “I suppose like most people, sometimes we are the villains and sometimes we are the victims. It is only in fiction where things are so black and white to label an entire classification of beings. Instead, we are just people, granted people who have a particular magic that can be a blessing or a curse.”

Bond heard Q’s use of the word ‘we’ but listened quietly and let Q continue. “As a selkie, I have always viewed my nature as a blessing. There is nothing that compares with the freedom of being in my aquatic form, exulting in the water. I hadn’t given much thought to the vulnerability of my nature…at least not until now.” Q took a deep breath and straightened his back, pulling himself into a position of strength deliberately. “My pelt was stolen. If I don’t get it back soon--very soon-- I will die.”

Instinctively, Bond's muscles flexed as his body reacted to his sudden need to DO something. He wanted to demolish whoever had done this to Q. He wanted to wrap Q in a deep hug of concern and reassurance. He wanted to fix it and make it all better. He lurched towards Q's position on the bed. He caught himself, realizing that Q may not want anyone near when he was so vulnerable, and turned his stumble into a more professional stride as he began pacing the room. The fact that his pacing path brought him closer to Q was merely a coincidence.

Still holding himself in a tight and proud posture, Q continued, "Selkies can go hours without their pelt. Obviously, we can't carry them with us while we are passing for human. But in order to maintain our balance, we need to change at least once a day. So when I need to stay at MI-6 for days on end, I take a break to go down to the pool when no one else is around, change, and swim in my seal form. Then I can change back and return to Q-branch. For those times, I keep…I kept my pelt in my swim locker. Looking back I see it was reckless on my part, but I thought that any part of MI-6 was safe. Who would break into MI-6 just to steal junk from lockers?" As Q said this last part, he looked up into Bond's eyes sorrowfully and Bond realized that this question wasn't entirely rhetorical.

“I need your help,” Q pleaded, “I have done what I can investigating electronically and online, but this thief has not left any digital footprints for me to find. I require someone with your skills. Even if I didn’t need an agent, I need someone I can trust: a friend, and you are on that very short list. I know I am throwing a lot at you at once, but my time is running out. I am starting to fade. We need our magic to keep us alive and I have no way to replace mine without my pelt. Please find mine before it is too late.”

As Q had spoken, Bond’s striding had brought him closer to the bed. To continue the professional packing, he now needed to turn his back on Q and walk away from him. The thought of that seeming rejection after Q had opened himself up to Bond tore at him. Bond stayed standing next to the bed in a proper military stature, holding himself tight and professional even as he longed to drop down and put his arms around Q. He could almost convince himself that there were physical forces pulling him towards Q.

As though hearing Bond’s inner argument, Q asked in a small voice, “Can you hold me?” Seemingly realizing that he was asking 007 to touch him in his bed, Q qualified, “Ever since my magic level has dropped, I have felt so cold, a cold that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with emptiness. From here I can feel your warmth and I hunger for it.” Q’s hand flew up involuntarily and hovered just beyond Bond’s arm. It was so close but didn’t touch, just waited.

Thoughts flew through Bond’s mind. Vampires needed to be invited in and could not enter without an invitation. Was Q playing coy so that Bond would invite him in and then Q could drain Bond’s energy? While his brain entertained paranoid thoughts, his body had no such compunction. With his intentions to stay detached and professional distracted by thoughts of monsters, he was released from his military posture and went beyond “at ease” and into a near fluid envelopment of Q. He dipped to Q’s level and embraced him in a hug that brought them against each other from the waist up. As soon as their skin touched, an electrical shock danced through Bond. Instead of repelling Bond, it felt like the thrill of sex, the beginning of a magnificent dalliance.

Bond recoiled back, releasing Q and placing space between them. His friend—his best friend—was dying and he was thinking about sex. He had always been attracted to Q, to every facet of Q, and had thought, hoped, that maybe one day….but today was not that day. Q was in dire danger and needed help and that help was not to be found on the end of Bond’s dick. He needed to do what was necessary to save his friend and not even think about taking advantage of the situation. Q had asked to be held, not to be fucked. There was a great difference between the two and Bond needed to remember that line. Even if Q had asked for more, the man wasn’t really in a state to know what he was doing, what he was asking for. Maybe someday they could be more than friends, but that should come from a good place where they were stable and ready to take on more.

With an apology on his lips, Bond looked down to meet Q’s eyes. His words were muted by the look of sorrow and loss on Q’s face. His eyes shone with tears as he spoke “I’m sorry I’m not your choice, especially in this condition, but I wasn’t asking for all that. I just wanted to be touched a little, just wanted a little of your magic, not that you have magic, just that my body is starved for magic right now and all beings have a little magic, even if they aren’t magical. SO you don’t have to touch me, but maybe could you get close enough that I can feel your aura, close enough that I can register the field difference on the hairs on my arms? It is kinda like being close enough to an electrical current to feel the magnetic field it generates, but not close enough for a charge to jump the arc—that’s what that spark was before: my body was grabbing some of your natural auratic power. It was greedy. You can’t blame it. It is starving—I am starving. But I won’t take anything from you, nothing that you will miss. Even if you were a creature of magic, I couldn’t take enough that you would really notice, and you aren’t a magical being, are you? I mean you seem to have a supernatural level of luck and the power of resurrection, but I figured if you were really magical, it would be in your record, maybe not your official one, but the unofficial one that no one is supposed to be able to access, which I read the day I met you, of course. So you probably aren’t magical. Am I saying ‘magic’ too much? I could look for a synonym, but…”

Bond dove onto Q, clenching him in a full-body embrace, holding onto him with his whole body. Bond expected the spark this time and didn’t even flinch as it struck him. He stayed in place until the electrical pulses died down into just a steady background field. He looked at his arms and watched as the hairs settled back almost into place, just slightly disturbed as though he were out in a big thunderstorm. He rolled off of Q and situated himself sitting against the headboard next to Q, then wrapped his arm around Q’s back and held the opposite shoulder. “Is this enough contact to work?” Bond asked Q gently. He wanted to hold Q tight but he also wanted to leave Q his dignity.

Between deep sobbing breaths, Q answered "It is fine. Thank you." After a few moments, Q shyly spoke more calmly, "Actually a little more skin contact would be better." Bond immediately removed his shirt and helped Q take off his pyjamas top then resumed the position. Q visibly relaxed at the increased skin to skin contact.

Bond smiled at Q “The answer to your question is ‘No’”. Q looked confused at the contradiction of refusing Q’s request to be held while being so obviously held. Bond continued with a smirk “I am not any sort of supernatural being, though I have been told I look--and do other things--like a Greek god.” Q’s laugh in reply was weak, but it was a laugh all the same so Bond considered it a win.

Matter of factly, Bond told Q, “I’m staying here like this tonight. I’ll start my investigation when the office opens in the morning. Until then, there is no place I would rather be.”

“No, you have already done enough. I can’t ask you to do that,” Q said. But the look of hunger and hope on his face contradicted his words.

“You are stuck with me.” Bond emphasized his words with a squeezing hug. He loosened his grip to a more gentle touch and asked, "Is there anything you can tell me about the theft or would you rather wait until morning?"

Q shifted his position, getting more comfortable. “I don’t know very much. I had disabled all the cameras so that no one could see me transform. No one in Q-branch seemed to know anything about the thefts. The doors were unlocked without any signs of hacking or force. I’m not sure where to start.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get on it tomorrow. What’s the use of your having a trained bloodhound if you don’t use him?” Bond soothed Q. “Can I get you a cuppa or anything?”

Q snuggled lower in the bed and mumbled, "No, just you." He was asleep in minutes. He had probably not slept since he found out his pelt was missing. He was still wearing his glasses and Bond left them in place. It would be better if Q could see as soon as he woke up so that he didn’t feel as vulnerable.

Not one to waste energy unnecessarily, Bond made himself comfortable next to Q and fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Bond woke the next morning absent-mindedly petting the dark head that lay on his chest. Q's head was placed so that his ear was directly above Bond's heart. Even though he felt a bit guilty to be doing it, Bond continued running his fingers through Q's hair, admiring how soft and fluffy it was. He was pleased that Q's colour looked better and the dark circles around his eyes had lightened, but it was still obvious that Q wasn't himself. Unwilling to awaken Q, Bond stayed in place and began thinking through his plans. He needed to talk to the building security, then Q-branch. After that, he would just go where the leads took him. He was determined that Q would have his pelt back before nightfall. There just was no other option.

Shortly Q stirred and opened his eyes. He blinked and looked confused. When he figured out that he was rubbing his cheek against Bond's bare chest, he sprang back, tumbling out of bed. His fluffy mane appeared rising over the side of the bed, followed by a pink-cheeked face. He mumbled "Sorry about that."

“There is nothing to apologize for. I was eminently comfy and slept very well. How are you feeling this morning?” In another situation, Bond would have teased Q mercilessly, but he had sincere concern for his friend and didn’t wish to make him uncomfortable.

Still blinking while waking slowly, Q answered “Much better. This is only a plaster: I still need my pelt, but I am feeling more myself for now. Thank you for sharing your….self?...with me. I should be able to make it through the day alone.” With that last part, Q seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as Bond.

Bond silently reinforced his vow to see Q made whole today. He wished he could stay here holding Q, but that wouldn’t solve the case or return the pelt. If only there was something that he could do to help Q while he was gone. He couldn’t reveal Q’s secret to anyone else. He briefly considered hiring a professional to cuddle Q in his absence, but that seemed risky. And if he was being honest with himself, he also felt a flare of jealousy at the thought. Another idea occurred to him. “Q, I’ll be back in 10 minutes. Make yourself comfortable again.” Before Q could question him, he was gone out the window and onto the fire escape.

Bond returned with minutes to spare, carrying his prize: a Persian cat with long beautiful black hair.

Q was more alert but no less perplexed. “Bond, that’s a cat. Why is that a cat?”

“You said that all sentient beings produce the magical energy that can help you stabilize, right? So I found a babysitter to keep you company while I am gone.” Bond was proud of his solution.

"But, Bond, cats aren't considered sentient and that cat, in particular, belongs to Mrs Armstrong upstairs. She is going to miss her cat," Q protested.

"Q, can you look into this face and tell me that she is not intellectually aware AND that she doesn't have fits of temper when she hides from Mrs Armstrong?" Bond rebutted confidently. "I'll return her tonight when I get back."

Ignoring Q's squawks of protest, Bond laid the cat on his lap. Q immediately began stroking the soft black fur beneath his hand. With a note of awe, Q said "She DOES have a field all her own. It isn't as strong as yours, but it is enough to help me get through the day until you return."

“…with your pelt” Bond vocalized his previously silent pledge. “And on that note, I should get to work. Is there anything you need before I go?”

Q mutely shook his head while still petting the cat in wonder.

“Then I’m off. Try to rest if you can. I think you still need a bit more.” Bond gently ordered Q. Shifting to face the cat, he spoke more firmly “And YOU need to stay at your post and take care of Q. You will be rewarded handsomely for your service upon my return.” He would have sworn that the cat blinked in acknowledgement. Either way, the feline didn’t look as there she was going to leave Q’s lap anytime soon.

Reluctantly Bond left Q and returned to MI-6 to begin investigating. He grudgingly went to the Building Security Office. Since the crime was a simple burglary and the property belonged to MI-6 employees but not MI-6 itself, it was considered a simple domestic crime. They didn’t want to give access to the local police so it was the building security’s responsibility. Since they hadn’t ever been asked to solve a crime before, the progress was so slow it was almost backwards.

Bond was able to use his lost family heirloom as an excuse for why he was personally interested in the crime and was going to be involved, regardless of the official jurisdiction.

With enormous effort, Bond was trying not to lose his patience. “Let me get this straight. The swimming pool’s filter system is electronic so building maintenance couldn’t fix it, but it was not a matter of national security so Q-branch couldn’t be involved. So the decision was to get outside contractors to make the repair and these men were let into the building and left unsupervised to perform their repairs and instead they stole everything from the pool lockers and everything that wasn’t nailed down in the rest of area that they could get to. Is that correct?”

“Yes, we were simply following protocol. Workmen are to be given the necessary access to perform their duties and we didn’t have any extra staff to stand around and watch them work. It is just unfortunate that they were near an unmonitored building exit door and that all the cameras were malfunctioning.” The security guard was trying to make it all sound very reasonable, but he was squirming at having to defend his department’s decisions.

“None of the surveillance cameras were operational? Doesn’t that seem too coincidental?” Bond questioned.

“There is something about the humidity and chlorine that breaks the cameras. I don’t really understand it myself. The quartermaster himself has tried to explain it to me, but the bottom line is that none of the cameras in that part of the building have ever worked.” The guard was defensive but stubborn.

“Have the contractors been arrested? I assume that even without video, there is no question about who the guilty parties are?” Bond asked reasonably.

“Well, we haven’t been able to contact them. The mobile they were using is no longer functioning. We had Q branch double-check and it seems the SIM card must have been destroyed.”

"Mobile? Well, what about their office location and their landlines? Give me their address and I will pay them a courtesy visit myself—just to be helpful." Bond said with a shark's smile.

The guard bleated out “The Maintenance Department was in charge of hiring the contractors. They made all the arrangements. Their equipment maintenance guy did it.”

Bond leaned forward, catching the scent of fear and desperation. “And what have YOU learned from talking to the equipment maintenance ‘guy’ ?”

“Well, he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t sure of the procedures, so he used his common sense.” The guard was backing away from Bond as he spoke until he had placed a desk between them. As though a desk would be an impediment to an agent.

“WHO DID HE HIRE?” Bond left no room to evasion.

“He put an ad on craigslist,” the guard admitted, “and took the lowest bid. They gave him a mobile phone number, but it was a burner phone paid for in cash and—as I said before—it is no longer working, so it is a dead end. We have no leads.”

“So where is this ‘equipment maintenance man’? I would like to have a chat with him. Just a friendly chat.” Bond said with a smile that bared his teeth.

Relieved that Bond was going to focus on another target, the guard replied, "Even though this is just a domestic burglary case and the man in question only showed poor judgment in the lack of a defined procedure, you are not the only MI-6 employee who has taken offence personally. He is down in a holding cell. He has answered all the questions asked of him and it appears that he was stupid rather than devious. However, he is currently in isolation awaiting serious interrogation."

Bond's fang-baring converted to a glower. "So no one can speak to him right now? What is this serious interrogation waiting for? I would be happy to volunteer to do the job."

Eagerly the guard answered “Yes, that’s the problem. Almost everyone who lost property from their locker has offered to do the interrogation. So the decision was made to have an auction, benefitting charity, and the winner will be allowed to grill the idiot. No lasting physical damage will be allowed.” Dropping to a confiding tone, he continued “Personally, I am hoping that Vera from Accounting wins. The rumour is that the last time she called 003 into her office to question his travel expense report, he left in tears.”

Denied access to the guy who had invited the thieves into the building, Bond went to Q-branch. Without a leader, Q-branch was even more chaotic than usual. With effort, Bond remembered that the quartermaster’s second-in-command was R and found the woman. “I need your help. I come here with Q’s full blessing and he has asked that you give me whatever help I need. “

Her response was a sceptically raised eyebrow.

“If you don’t believe me, we can call Q right now.” Bond followed up with his trump card “But he was finally sleeping when I left and I would hate to wake him. He’s really been sick and needs his rest.”

R's eyebrow lowered and joined her other one in a scowl. “So I could trust you or I could disturb Q? Tell you what, I will do what you say, knowing that if you are lying, Q will be the one to wreak vengeance and that even you aren’t stupid enough to incur that. What do you want?”

Relaxing slightly Bond answered “I need to track down the thieves that looted the locker room. I know that your department was able to determine that their mobile phone was no longer transmitting. What I need is a record of everywhere that the phone was—starting with where it was purchased and then anytime it pinged off a tower up until it stopped transmitting. And I need it as fast as you can manage.”

“That will be a significant use of resources to catch some petty thieves.”

“It is not petty to me. They took something very dear to me and I will not stop until I get it back. I'm asking that you help give me a good start on the hunt. Do this and I will owe you a favour. There aren't many people who can say that. I need your help…and maybe someday you will need mine." Bond's tone was as reasonable as he could manage but it had an edge of desperation. “I’ll also take full responsibility if any toes are stepped on in the process or any laws…bent.”

  
Although it felt like it took years, R got Bond his information in a surprisingly quick time. He thanked her quickly as he rushed out of the office. He rifled through the pages on his way down to the garage and by the time he reached his car, he knew where to begin looking. Most of the phone pings were in the same neighbourhood, a less-than-desirable location that was far from the store where the phone had been purchased with cash. It was a good idea for them to buy the phone in a strange area, but they didn't know that someone would have the resources to track where the phone was actually used.

Although he resented the lost time to return to his flat to change clothes, he needed the appropriate disguise for his search. He needed to look like he could belong in that neighbourhood, yet just a touch better so that he would like he had some resources. He refused to take the tube but had to park his car on the outskirts. The car park had an attendant and Bond gave him a handsome tip to watch his car carefully. However, when the man reached out for the offered bills, Bond grabbed his hand and held it against his mobile, scanning his fingerprint. "Just in case, you don't happen to be here when I return and I need to—thank—you for the state of my car. This way I will be able to find you." The man looked at the bills then placed in his hand with a mix of fear and greed. Bond was confident his car would be untouched upon his return.

This case required some good old-fashioned detective work: asking questions, offering bribes, and sifting through everything to find the next lead. Even if someone lies to you, it is telling which part they chose to lie about and what they chose to substitute. Impatience itched at Bond, worrying about Q wasting away alone at home while he talked to morons and pretended to be just one of the guys.

Finally, his quarry had a name, two names, in fact, brothers. These brothers would come into sudden flushes of cash and would brag about placing ads to find people just begging to be robbed. They would put out multiple ads for various repair jobs, offer to the job for a very low rate, and then be invited into peoples' homes to take whatever they wanted. They had been bragging this week that they had moved up to doing corporate jobs and that volume was the way to go. It was obvious that these were the guys and it was also obvious that they were no masterminds, nor part of a greater scheme. They were just small-time crooks who made the mistake this time of stealing the wrong thing from the wrong person. Even though Bond learned their names, he would not give them the courtesy of remembering them. He thought of them as Thing One and Thing Two.

Now there were a couple of Things that he needed to take care of.

Bond didn’t even bother knocking before kicking the door down. Inside the brothers were surprised chortling over their loot. Thing One had Q’s pelt on the table in front of him, along with a miscellanea of valuable items. Bond’s gun was drawn to Thing One as though magnetized. Bond watched Thing Two out of the corner of his eye but Thing One had his gun’s complete attention.

“Step away from that table. Go over and stand next to your brother.” Bond ordered coolly.

Thing One was either smarter or dumber than typical and reacted to the order by smiling and leaning over the table instead. “There is something here that you want, something that has caught your eye. Or maybe there is something that you already knew was here.” Thing One watched Bond closely and caught the involuntary flicker down to the pelt. He gathered it up in his arms. “This? Yes, this is a treasurer, isn’t it? I don’t know which animal sacrificed for this fur, but it was so worth it.” He rubbed the pelt against his cheek.

Nausea rolled over Bond. This disgusting creature was pawing at Q’s skin—Q’s literal skin!—and that had to stop now. Bond wanted to shoot this man so badly; he couldn’t remember the last time someone was just the perfect place to put a bullet. But if he shot him, his blood would splatter onto the pelt: this man would leave a residue of himself onto Q. He wanted to avoid that.

Thinking through this had left Bond pausing just a little too long and Thing One felt an advantage. “Tell you what. You leave now and we’ll pack up our things and get out of here. We’ll leave the fur behind for you. But you have to leave now.”

The expression “I trust him as far as I can throw him” flickered through Bond’s head. He didn’t trust this creature at all (though he would love to see how far he could throw him. He needed to make a decisive move now and finish this up.

Thing One leered “You need more time to think. That’s okay.” He nuzzled the pelt. “This feels so good. I wonder how it would taste?”

Immediately Bond fired his gun and Thing Two crumpled to the ground with a bullet in his leg. The wounded creature whined “Why did you shoot me? I didn’t do nothin’”

The weapon was again pointed at Thing One and Bond explained “I would rather not have to clean blood off of the fur—such an inconvenience—so I thought a demonstration was in order. Now you know that I will shoot and will do so accurately. Your brother’s injury won’t be fatal. However, if you do not hand over that fur immediately…..Well, I might as well ask the cleaner to get brain matter out of the fur rather than just blood.”

Realizing that he was not the predator in the room, Thing One threw the pelt to Bond who managed to gather it up in one arm while keeping his gun arm free and aimed. He wasn’t sure if he imagined it but it felt like the sealskin was clinging to him.

“Oh, yeah, and there was a ring you took, a signet ring. It is engraved on the inside with ‘Delacroix’, but I'm not going to assume that either of you knows how to read. I want it back…NOW”

Frantically Thing Two started pulling on his finger, trying to remove the ring, which seemed to be stuck.

Helpfully Bond said “If you can’t get it off in the next 30 seconds, I will cut off your finger. I already know that it is easy to clean blood off of metal.”

With a desperate whimper, Thing Two yanked off the ring and held it out to Bond, who scooped it up and deposited in his pocket.

“Okay, I am going to give you two…things…a fair chance, which is more than you deserve. Go now, take nothing but the clothes you are wearing. Empty your pockets first because I mean NOTHING more than the clothes on your back. Run and keep running. If you leave everything behind and never come back to this city, then I won’t hunt you down and kill you. But if you take anything else or if you dare to step foot in London again, then I will have to take care of you—permanently but slowly. Am I understood?” Bond really didn’t want to let them go, but he also didn’t want to be bogged down in paperwork when he wanted to get Q’s pelt back to him.

Thing Two rose unsteadily to his feet, using a nearby chair to pull himself up. Thing One went towards the door, swinging widely around Bond. He never gave a look to his brother or thought about helping him.

"I'm all about being fair," Bond said, "and it isn't right that your brother limps and you don't." The gun fired one more time. "Now you are both on even footing…so to speak. I was even thoughtful enough to give you mirror injuries so you can do a nice version of a three-legged race. Now get the hell out of here before I forget to be nice." The two crooks dragged themselves out the door as fast as they were able on their injured legs.

Bond gave them a 60-second headstart because he really didn't want to see them again and didn't want to get distracted in getting back to Q. As he waited he held the pelt in wonder, awed that he actually had it and could give it back to Q right away. He wished he could clean it before returning it to Q. He wanted to remove the physical scents that it had been tainted with. But how does one clean a magical sealskin? Dry cleaner? Febreeze? Seltzer water and salt? He had no idea what would help and what might harm it. The important thing would be to get it to Q and let Q decide how to take care of it.

He ran back to the carpark, unable to restrain his eagerness. Unsurprisingly his car was untouched and he left in it to the attendant’s relief. He was on his way back to Q to make him whole again.

Leaving his car in a no-parking-zone out front, Bond rushed into Q’s building and up to his flat. He was glad that the door was unlocked so that it didn’t slow him down, even though he was alarmed at Q’s lack of security. He found Q in the living room with the black cat on his lap. “I found it! I got back your pelt!”

Relief and need were the first emotions across Q’s face. But then Q moved the cat off his lap and stood up with an oddly formal and uncomfortable look. “Thank you for bringing it back. Now that you possess my skin, you know that you are my master now. I will do whatever you want, but could you take pity on me and let me wear it a little bit before you lock it away from me?” The formal mask cracked a little showing fear and pain.

“What are you talking about, Q? I got you your pelt back. It is YOURS.” Bond was genuinely confused.

“It is known among my people that if a human has your pelt, then you are their slave. Sometimes these arrangements can be worked out so that it is almost an advantage….” Q was trying to convince himself that this was a good turn of chance.

“You are not my slave. You belong to no one. This was not about me gaining power over you, not about me at all. It was about returning what belongs to you so that you could be made whole.” With a combination of disgust and panic at the idea of such slavery, Bond threw the skin to Q.

Q cuddled the pelt and brought it against his face, not noticing the stink of the thieves on it. He pet it hungrily then remembered there was someone else in the room. “Then my thanks are doubled, for you have given it back to me twice. Sorry if I can’t be polite but there is something else I need to do right now.” Q slipped out of his pyjamas and pants effortlessly. Bond caught a brief glimpse of Q's naked beauty but then it was covered in the sealskin.

All of a sudden there was a seal in the room. That’s what Bond should have expected: Selkies transform into seals. Not seal-men, half human and half seal. Not humans with seals’ fur. Real seals. In Bond’s mind, he had pictured Q’s alabaster form becoming an ebony one in the same shape, perhaps with a bit of velvety texture. Nope. 100% seal, 0% human.

The seal bounced about the room in delight, rolled on its back, and barked with joy. Despite its size, it was oddly graceful and very familiar with the furniture layout. It cavorted happily.

The creature turned and faced a still-stunned Bond. With a mischievous gleam in its eye, it stalked towards him. Bond would have sworn that seals couldn’t stalk, but that was obviously what was going on. Bond enacted a strategic retreat without taking his eyes off the seal until he was backed up against an armchair. With a playful nudge, the seal pushed him and he fell into sitting on the chair with the top half of the sea creature in his lap.

"Q are you in there?" Bond asked in an awestruck voice. The seal leaned in closer…and licked Bond's nose. Bond frantically tried to wipe the slime off his face while the seal barked its laughter. "I guess that's a yes? Is it okay if I touch you?"

The eyeroll was unmistakably Q’s, regardless of the form of the face those eyes were in. The seal butted his head against Bond’s flailing hand, like a cat demanding to be petted. The skin beneath his hand was warm and a cross between velvet and silk. The odour from the crooks was gone and only the scent of fresh ocean remained. He slid his hand past the head and continued on down the body. He had a brief thought to wonder which part of Q’s body corresponded to where his hand was now and that was enough to make him pull back his hand in alarm.

The seal’s barking laugh transitioned to Q’s guffaws as his body transformed from seal back to human. Bond found a naked quartermaster in his lap. Well, not completely naked: he had his fur coat loosely resting on his shoulders. As his laughter wound down, Q explained “I need to keep contact with my pelt until I heal, but it is hard to talk while in seal form. So this is my compromise: I keep the pelt close enough and touching in a few points, but not so many that I transform. This way I can be with you while I recover: the best of both worlds.” Q was healing before Bond’s eyes and was as giddy as a child on his first sugar rush. The selkie was half out of his head in glee. Bond wasn’t sure where his hands belonged so he kept them gripping the armrests. Q leaned back to look at Bond’s face and started to overbalance. Automatically Bond reached out and caught Q, keeping him from falling. “Better” Q purred and began to nuzzle Bond’s neck.

Bond had dreamed about having a naked Q on top of him, but he realized that Q was intoxicated with the return of his magic and wasn’t thinking clearly. He knew that he couldn’t take anything from Q when Q wasn’t able to consciously give it. Q licked his ear and Bond tried to believe that there wasn’t anything wrong with this scene, but he knew better. Before it could go further, Bond stood up suddenly, dumping Q to the floor. When he hit the floor, Q made full contact with his pelt and transformed into the seal.

“There, better” Bond said without feeling it even one bit. “I think you should stay in this form until you are back to normal. We can still spend time together. Do you have a ball I can throw for you? A nice game of fetch?”

The seal ducked his head, telling Bond to get down lower. Bond sank to his knees to look the seal in the face. The features were all different except the eyes: the seal had Q’s eyes. Bond looked into those eyes and knew that Q was looking back. Then the seal sneezed a very wet and slimy sneeze into Bond’s face. Bond recoiled backwards, wiping at his face. “Yeah, I guess I deserved that.”

Q stayed in seal form and actually did find a ball to play fetch with Bond. It was very silly and so much fun…for both of them. While throwing the ball, Bond was able to reflect. He had always felt drawn to Q, but had known that there was a barrier between them, something that said: "Keep Out". Now he realized that it was the secret of Q's nature. Q had been afraid to get close to another person because he was afraid that he would be taken advantage of or just rejected with repulsion. There were no secrets between them now and their relationship was free to develop. Maybe be they would just be good friends, but maybe there would be something more, something special. Only time would tell.

EPILOGUE (Two years later):

Bond was relieved to be home from the mission. It hadn’t been a particularly bad one, but he was growing to resent anything that took him away from where he belonged. At the entryway, he submitted to the retina scan while humming the tune that would unlock the entrance. Stepping inside, he barely managed to kick the door shut behind him before he started stripping. He raced through the house, leaving a trail of clothes as he went, until he emerged naked in the pool area. Without hesitating, he dove into the saltwater pool. As he head broke the water, he laughed and jeered "You had plenty of time and yet I still beat you into the pool." A lumbering seal grumbled as it made its way to the edge and slid in. Bond retained the advantage of speech and mocked "Don't get me the crap about needing to strip and transform. I had to strip and transform too AND go through the security gate. Just admit that you are slowing down in your old age."

Actually, Q was delayed by needing to get to a stopping point in his work, sign off, and remove a cat from his lap. If Q needed to work longer than 10 hours, it was understood that he would transfer to his home office and would be taking breaks as possible. There was no longer any need to risk his pelt being anywhere outside of their home. He also had two cats to provide him with a little aura assistance whenever he needed to go without changing for longer than was comfortable.

The ‘old age’ crack was probably a bit much and the selkie thought so too, splashing Bond with his tail. This turned into a splash fight, where the selkie definitely had the advantage. Bond admitted defeat and they romped in the water like the silly kids that they were.

This was Bond’s new ritual. As he stripped off 007’s wardrobe, he left the agent behind him. Q removed his selkie skin to take his human form; Bond removed his agent’s façade to take HIS human form. There was no longer a need for scotch to forget because Bond could leave the agent behind altogether as he transformed from his country’s tool into a person, a person who was loved.

He still swam, but it was no longer to wear himself out or wash away his sins. Instead, it was to celebrate his life, the life he shared with a being of the sea. After they finished playing in the water, they would adjoin to the bedroom to share another exercise together.

Tomorrow he would go to MI-6 and file his After-Action Reports. He would have no trouble giving the account of what happened. It no longer pained him because he now understood that his job was what he did and not who he was.

Who he was was that luckiest man in the world who was happily married to someone who was too good for him and yet still his perfect mate. They would show each other that love in many ways, every day and every way.


End file.
